Story:Nobody's Safety Guaranteed/Intermission 5
There are so many things that I do not understand. I know this now. I know, also, that I am learning fast, faster than it should be possible to. But it is not fast enough. No matter how my boundaries expand, what I reach for is always out of my grasp, and that which I do not know always grows more swiftly than what I do. No longer are my dreams a comfort. When I fail, finally, and fall into exhausted sleep, there is no reassuring void to embrace me. There is no rest. The children are always waiting. Voices, growing thicker with every night. So many wails, so much weeping that no one hears except for me. So much pain. All my sleep becomes nothing but a cry to help them, but what is there that I can do? I try to stop them from doing the actions that will provoke pain, and they are granted a brief respite before it starts again. I try to still them, but that does not stop them from feeling. I numb them, but still they know. I can do so little. I am nothing but a passenger in their dreams. But they know that I’m here, even when it’s just a fleeting brush against their minds. Now they call out to me, someone, can You please save us, salve us. Make it stop. Even Kai is no longer a solace for me. They no longer physically torture him, true, and he is always happy to see me, but sometimes I find him still in so much turmoil that I want to cry for him. He never cries. Often I see him speaking to that man, the one I want to warn him against: you see, he wants to be your father, but he isn’t. No parent should make a child hurt. This is another thing I have learnt: words can cause pain. Kai and the man with the laughing eyes are still the two people I have learnt the most from. They talk about what it means to be a parent. How to give children what they want. How hard it is to know what’s right in raising a child. I don’t know yet what the difference is between a parent and a carer. I resolve to learn, at least, how not to be a bad parent before I grow up. I do not understand cruelty. I have witnessed so much of it now, but still I do not comprehend it. One night, I wake from my usual night terrors to find Deng sitting at the end of the bed watching me. The room is lit only by the dim, golden light of her desktop lamp. Even by that dull glow, I can see how worried she looks, her forehead creased, eyes downcast. She looks thin and sick, like one of the children. “I’m so sorry,” she says, as soon as she sees that I am awake. “Your dreams must be terrible.” “I dreamt that I was reaching out for my father,” I tell her. “I haven’t seen him for years. He left without telling me why, and all that remained were people who hurt me. Then one day, he returned suddenly for me. But when I stretched out to touch him, he became someone else.” Tenderly, she pulls me into her embrace. I cry then, my shoulders shaking uncontrollably. “Why? I don’t understand. Why is this happening?” Like how the children keep asking me. “Can you make it stop? Please, make it stop.” She rocks me back and forth, murmuring soothing words that mean nothing. Slowly, her words resolve. Apologies. “I’m sorry,” she keeps repeating. “I should have told you earlier. Forgive me. I just wanted to keep you safe and sheltered for a little while longer. It’s hard for a parent to hurt their child.” It’s the last line that I cling to. “Why do the parents hurt their children, then?” “They aren’t real parents. They’re just carers. Scientists assigned to get results out of their experiments.” “Not-” I’m not a child anymore. Children have parents, Kai had said. “They have no parents?” Mixed emotions flood me. At least it wasn’t their parents who had betrayed them. But how much more devasting, how desolate, to have no parents at all. I try to imagine a life without Deng, and shudder. Deng squeezes me one more time, then clambers onto the floor so that her face is level with mine. She grips me by the arms so tightly that her fingers will leave impressions. “This is why I chose You. It’ll be a heavy burden, but I will be here to help You.” “I don’t understand,” I whisper. Her hands are beginning to hurt me. I have never seen Deng look so intent, so focused. So alive. “''You'' will be their parent.” “But I can’t stop them from being hurt!” “You can. You can keep them safe. Stop them from running into danger. Tell them when they’re misbehaving and halt them if they continue. And when they are in pain, You have the power to soothe them.” Finally, one hand releases me. Deng strokes my cheek softly. “I know it’s so much for You to take in. But I know You can do them. You can be their shelter. That’s what a parent does.” “I don’t understand,” I repeat weakly. My mind is roiling. Me? The parent? And yet every word Deng says rings true. Almost every word. “Why do they still have to be hurt?” “It’s just how it is. You and I can’t save everyone, but together we can make things better for all of them.” “Better?” I echo, more for myself than in response to her. She answers anyway. Tenderly, she wipes a tear from my cheek. “With You shielding them, they will be better able to bear any trials. Bandage their wounds.” For a moment, I remain silent. My head descends in a nod of acceptance. Deng looks so radiant – benevolent, understanding, filled with pleasure that borders on triumph. As she always does when I am near to making a jump in understanding. Her expression is understanding and pleased, nearly triumphant. As it always is when I am near to making progress. Scientists assigned to get results out of their experiments. Is progress a kind of result? “No,” I whisper. “No?” Deng mouths the word. Her astonishment mirrors mine; I hadn’t meant to say it aloud. But it’s true. “No. They don’t deserve to be hurt at all. Why do they have to be wounded? Any parent would rescue their child from this!” But I can’t, my mind gibbers. Ninety percent of me is panicking. I can’t say no to Deng. I’m not saying no to Deng. We’re not arguing. We’re not, not, not, not, not, not. “I’m just a kid too. I’m not- I can’t be-” My voice falters. Deng’s lips have tightened into a thin, pale line. It is more than the gentle disappointment that I am used to it. It is anger. Her voice is cool and understanding. It makes me feel so foolish. “You’re right. You are just a child. I thought You were ready to learn, but I see I…overestimated You.” I feel as if I’ve been stabbed; I am bleeding, I am paralysed. “Come with me,” she continues, then jerks me up by the arm when I do not move – not painfully, but with force. Without care. She half-drags me towards the neighbouring room, eyes resolutely forward, marching faster than is comfortable for my shorter legs to follow. I want to ask her to slow down, but I am too afraid. Adjourning my bedroom is Deng’s lab. In the middle is the bed on which she taught me the quiet game, and it’s like a nightmare version of it, how she swings me up onto it, lies me facedown. She stretches out my hands and legs, just as if we’re playing the game again, but it’s wrong. The click of metal around my wrists and ankles is loud and that has never happened; she wouldn’t do this; I can’t find my voice. “Please don’t hurt me,” I beg. The thin voice sounds like a child. Like them. “I’m not going to hurt You.” Her tones are soft and dispassionate. “I’m teaching You.” The prick of the needle against my skin is almost gentle. “You need to learn. I’m going to push You until You do.” Her voice is fading. I am drowning into blackness, into an unconsciousness that is not sleep, into something that is worse than nightmares and pain. The children are beyond my reach. “When You see enough, you’ll understand.” There are no voices here. |}